Too Many Valentine’s Days

I have lived through so many Valentine’s Days that I no longer remember them all.

At least not clearly.

Maybe ten. Maybe fifteen.

I'm in my late twenties. So I'm not sure.

Some remain sharper than others.

I have spent Valentine’s Day at the beach with my mother and my sister. The breeze was cool, and we ate well. It was simple. It was enough.

I have spent Valentine’s Day at the movies with my best friend and my sister, watching a horror film — one I obviously chose. Since I was little, I have always preferred fear over romance.

I once cried on Valentine’s Day, asking to be loved. Asking to live what other girls seemed to live so easily. I wanted flowers, chocolates, and a giant teddy bear — not because I needed them, but because I wanted proof that someone had chosen me.

I have spent Valentine’s Day in a hospital, not understanding what was happening. I still not clearly remember and maybe I don't really want to.

I have spent Valentine’s Day in a crowded shopping mall, watching couples kiss, watching them walk hand in hand into hotels, feeling like I was observing a world I wasn't a part of.

I have received flowers and felt happy. But only for a moment. The flowers lasted longer than the feeling did.

Once, I received a small gift — a pink box with a tiny teddy bear holding a glowing flower. I carried it in my hand wondering if it had been bought on the way, just to comply with the date. I thought it was cheap and felt disappointed. I should not have complained. Perhaps that was the only way he knew how to try.

I have spent Valentine’s Day at school. It was summer, and I was in remedial classes — as I was almost every summer. We shared snacks, and the teachers gave us small gifts with letters I can’t remember anymore.

I once went to a stranger’s party on Valentine’s Day. I stayed seated on a couch, drinking with a friend, watching my partner at the time flirt with other girls.

I have gone to an all-you-can-eat sushi bar with two good friends. We had ice cream afterward and laughed. That night felt lighter than most.

I have spent Valentine’s Day with my ex’s family, pretending we were still together because he didn't want to tell the truth.

I was once asked to restart a relationship that had already ended long before that day. It happened on Valentine’s Day. He showed up with flowers and a teddy bear. I said yes. The next day, I regretted it. I asked him to come over and told him it had been a mistake. I would like to say that we ended things for good, but it was only one ending among many unfinished endings.

I have spent Valentine’s Day alone at home watching movies.

I have spent it at my mother’s best friend’s house. Today, they no longer speak. More than twenty years of friendship disappeared over something small — proof that even long loves can collapse quietly.

I have spent Valentine’s Day in love, single, and convinced I was in love.

I have lived it in so many ways that I no longer remember them all — and the ones I do remember, I sometimes wish I didn’t.

After all this, how is February 14th supposed to be celebrated? What am I meant to do that day?

I no longer have friends to celebrate it with. I have a partner now, but the date no longer feels special.

I once wanted to feel like a Disney princess, but now It is just another day

in another month

in another year.

It is not special.

And if it ever truly was, it isn't anymore.

At least not for me.